


Our Father's Sons

by hekaete



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Potter is the Heir to the House of Black, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Live, Not Beta Read, Not Pottermore Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slytherin Harry Potter, Tags May Change, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hekaete/pseuds/hekaete
Summary: Harry Potter is nothing special, or so he thinks. An orphan living with his aunt and uncle, he’s treated more like a servant than a member of the family. That is, until a letter arrives, inviting him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.Hardly believing his luck, Harry thinks his life is finally looking up, when he finds out the terrible truth. His parents are alive, and they gave him up because they thought he was non-magical. Even worse, he has siblings — and his brother is the famous Boy-Who-Lived.After meeting his godfather, Harry goes to Hogwarts, determined to prove himself to his parents and the Wizarding World. But what will they think of a Potter in Slytherin?Harry is drawn into the mysteries of Hogwarts and the third floor corridor, all the while balancing his schoolwork, his family, and his new association with the infamous Black’s. What is the headmaster hiding? And why does Professor Quirrell seem so interested in him?
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 96





	Our Father's Sons

The letter came in early July.

Harry, as usual, got the mail that morning. And, as usual, he glanced through it before handing it to Uncle Vernon. It was nothing but his idle curiosity getting the better of him, as it often did. He never stole mail or opened it. But he couldn’t help reading what he could. It was simply in his nature.

Though, of course, he never got mail himself. So he didn’t expect the letter. It was addressed to him — Harry Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. There was no mistake. It was so specific, there couldn’t be.

Harry bit his lip. The Dursley’s surely wouldn’t approve of him getting mail. They’d take it from him, like they took everything else. And he was still in trouble from the incident at the zoo. Making a split-second decision, he stuffed the letter into the belted waistband of his too-large trousers, covering with his oversize shirt. He could read it later.

The rest of the day went on as normal. He cleaned, he cooked, and he did his best to ignore the Dursley’s, and they, him.

Finally, he was able to go to be in his cupboard. It seemed a long time before his relative went upstairs, and he waited even longer to makes sure they were asleep before he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. He turned on the bare lightbulb that hung above his cot and eagerly ripped open the thick envelope.

“Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…” he read aloud in a whisper, his eyes widening. Could it be real?

Could he be a wizard?

He skimmed the entire letter, then took out the list of requirements.

It was certainly a long way to go for a simple prank. Not that he knew anyone who would prank him.

The Dursley’s certainly weren’t that creative, even if they were that cruel. And besides, they hated anything to do with magic, even when it came on tv. There was no way they were behind this. After all, it might give him ideas, according to their thinking.

No, this had to be real, somehow. Magic had to be real. Harry shut the light off, lay back down, and shoved the letter into his pillowcase for safekeeping.

In the dark, he wondered. Many strange things had happened to him, that was true. Growing his hair back overnight when Aunt Petunia shaved it. Turning his teacher’s wig blue. Appearing on the rooftop of the school. And just recently, at the zoo, he had spoken to that snake. 

None of those things were very normal.

Harry had, in the deepest part of his heart, always thought that his relatives were right. That he was some kind of freak.

But maybe it was magic, all along, and he was a wizard. 

Harry closed his eyes, a smile on his face, feeling for the first time in a long time that his future was looking up.

The next morning, Harry made sure the letter was hidden, not sure when or if he was going to tell the Dursley’s about it. 

As usual, he made breakfast. And, as usual, he was left with far too little to eat. Once Uncle Vernon headed off to work, and Dudley had left with his friends, Harry turned to Aunt Petunia, considering

“Have you ever heard of a school called Hogwarts?” he asked, surprising himself. His Aunt had always been the quickest to deny the existence of anything she saw as unnatural, and he had no reason to believe that she would know about the things the letter talked about. But he wanted desperately to believe the letter was real, and part of him still feared that it was a prank.

Aunt Petunia dropped the glass she was washing, and it shattered on the floor.

“How did you hear that name?” she whispered, white-faced and shaking. With fear or anger, Harry didn’t know. 

“I got a letter in the mail,” he said, more bravely than he felt. His aunt wasn’t afraid to give him a smack if she thought he was misbehaving, or lock him in the cupboard for days without food. But this seemed too important to ignore. If he really was a wizard, he wanted to know.

He wanted to go to Hogwarts.

“You got a letter,” his Aunt repeated faintly. She seemed to rally herself, a faint gleam in her eye. “Of course you got a letter! Just like the one your mother got, I wager. Full of nonsense. Cauldrons and robes and- and magic wands!”

“My mother?” His aunt never spoke about his mother. He didn’t even know her name. And now he knew why. His mum had been magical. “She was a witch?”

“Of course, she and that man she married. Fools, the both of them. Leaving you here, with us. They told us that you would be normal, that you would fit right in. Hah! I knew you were just like them the moment I set eyes on you. But Lily wouldn’t listen to me, no, of course not! What do I know? I’m just a muggle. And of course, they said it would be best you thought you were an orphan. And we went along with it. But I always knew, oh yes, I knew one day you would get one of those!”

It seemed as if she had been waiting for years to get that off her chest. Bu Harry was stuck on one particular thing. Thought you were an orphan.

He was silent for a moment, taking it all in.

“Does that mean my parents are alive?” he asked, careful not to let his emotions show.

“Yes. But we thought it was a kindness, to say they died, rather than the truth. But they can have you back now, boy, I dare say! I told Lily I wouldn’t have one of her kind in my house!”

Harry’s hand trembled, and he clenched them into fists.

“They left me here?” he asked, his voice breaking. “With you? But why?” His eyes filled with tears, and he wiped them away furiously, not wanting Petunia to see him cry.

“They told us you were a squib. Non-magical. It would have been a blessing if you were! But we always knew. We tried to tell them! I wrote Lily half a dozen times, trying to make her understand. But we never heard back from them, not until now. And don’t you think I’ll forget, boy, that you were going through our mail!”

The lightbulb over the sink shattered and Petunia shrieked, flinching away.

“Get out! Just get out!”

Harry turned and fled. He ran outside to the back yard, and sat among the flowers that he had planted, and cried.

His parents were alive, and they didn’t want him. They had left him at the Dursley’s, just because they thought he wasn’t a wizard.

His parents were alive, and they were wrong. He did have magic.

But what kind of parents were they, to leave him to think they were dead? Over something like that? He was sure Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would never abandon Dudley, no matter what, no matter how they treated Harry. They might not be good parents, but they weren’t that low.

The Potter’s, apparently, were.

Harry shook his head. He must be in a bad state, if he was thinking kindly of his Aunt and Uncle.

What would he do now? He was determined to go to Hogwarts. He would prove his parents wrong.

But he would never forgive them.

Never.

Eventually, it started to grow dark, and Harry ventured into the house. His aunt, out of either pity or fear, didn’t say anything to Uncle Vernon about the lightbulb, having changed it already without complaint. Maybe for the first time, she felt bad for him. More likely, she just didn’t want to deal with his uncle.

He ate his meager dinner in silence. all the while thinking about how to respond to his Hogwart’s letter. It had mentioned something about an owl, but he didn’t know what that meant. 

Later, as he was helping his aunt with the dishes, he asked.

“You’re going, are you?” she sniffed. “I suppose it’s for the best. You’ll be gone most of the year, that way. And if we’re lucky, you won’t have to come back at all. Just address it to the school and mail it, and it will get there. They know normal people don’t have a way to respond, otherwise. And don’t tell your uncle. I’ll talk to him.”

It was probably the nicest thing she had ever done for him, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to be grateful. Not after everything. But he thanked her anyway and headed back to his cupboard, where he kept an old notebook and pen of Dudleys.

Carefully, in his best handwriting, he addressed the letter, and wrote.

_Professor McGonagall,_

_I would be happy to accept my place at Hogwarts. Only, your letter didn’t tell me where to get my supplies or get to the school. If you could please send a reply with instructions, that would be helpful.  
_

_Yours,_

_Harry J. Potter_

The next day, Harry stole an envelope and stamp from his Uncle, reasoning that Vernon would be grateful that Harry was gone and so wouldn’t mind, and sent the letter.

Now, only to wait.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, enjoying a sugar quill as he wrote out a letter to the school governors. They expected a report at the beginning of every school year, detailing changes to the school and staff. And, as Albus had to hire a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor every year, the letter was usually quite detailed.

He signed, biting the quill. Quirinus Quirrel was an interesting candidate. He had previously been the Muggle Studies professor but had gone off to follow his passion about a year ago. Albus had his suspicions about that, int ruth. He knew Quirinus had always felt inadequate. Muggle Studies was a subject that wasn’t often taken seriously. He was a brilliant young man, but he had ambition enough for Slytherin.

Quirrell had returned a couple of months before the school year, responding to Albus’s ad in the Daily Prophet, looking for a Defense teacher. He was certainly qualified, though Albus had been alarmed at how much the young man had changed. He’d always had something of a stutter, but it seemed much stronger now, and he was wearing a turban, a habit he had apparently picked up abroad. Well, unusual fashions weren’t so unusual in the Wizarding World, Albus himself was a testament to that, and who knew what might have happened to worsen his stutter.

Still, Albus thought that something was off.

However, Quirrell was the only viable candidate, so he had little choice but to hire him. Quirinus had been delighted, naturally, and had sent in his lesson plan only that day.

Albus was just writing down Quirinus’s qualifications in his letter to the governor’s when the door to his office opened with a bang. He glanced up, alarmed, to see that it was his Deputy Headmistress and the Head of Gryffindor House, Minerva McGonagall. She looked outraged.

“What is it, Minerva?” he asked, dropping the quill and half rising.

“The Potter’s!” she said, half hysterically. “I’ve just received a letter from their son!”

“Surely that isn’t so unusual? It is time for young Adam to come to Hogwarts, after all.”

“Not Adam, Headmaster. Harry.”

Albus paled considerably, the taste of sugar on his lips souring.

“Ah.”

“You told me he was a squib, Albus! You said it was for the best!”

“And so I did,” he said with a heavy sigh. “It seems I was mistaken.”

"Mistaken! Mistaken! That boy has been raised by the worst sort of muggles, and that's all you have to say for yourself?"

“I and a team at St. Mungo’s all believed that Harry lost his magic the night that Lord Voldemort attacked, Minerva,” he said plaintively. “But if he received his letter, then we were very wrong.”

“I should say so!”

“I never approved of James and Lily sending their son to her sister, you know that. Disinheriting squibs is an old and barbaric practice, one I never thought the Potter’s would do. But I couldn’t do anything to stop them, legally. And James made it quite clear that it wasn’t any of my business.”

Minerva gave a derisive snort.

“And since when do you listen?” she asked.

Albus smiled wearily.

“I do tend to nose into things, don’t I? However, even I have my limits. When I pressed him, James threatened to take action against me in the Wizengamot, a suit I surely would have lost, and none the better for young Harry. I might be the Chief Warlock, but against Lord Potter, the father of the Boy-Who-Lived? There was nothing I could do.”

Minerva sagged, the righteous fury draining out of her.

“I suppose you’re right. The Wizengamot would have seen it as his right to do as he pleased with a squib child. But what do we do now?”

“What did he say in his letter?”

“He asked where to get his supplies, and how to get to Hogwarts.”

“Reasonable requests. I believe we ought to send a professor, as we do with muggleborn students. If you would like to go yourself, I see no reason to stop you. And if you were to tell young Harry that he has a loving godfather who wishes to meet him, I’m sure he would be pleased to hear it.”

“You mean for me to tell him about Sirius?”

“We’ve all seen what the Potter’s have become, Minerva,” he said sadly. “I doubt their influence would be welcome by Harry. But Sirius has never forgiven James for giving Harry up. Neither has Remus, for that matter. And Sirius has right as godfather. Not that James has ever honored that.”

There was a glint in Minerva’s eye that would have made him wary if it were directed at him. As it was, he thought that James and Lily were due for a wake-up call. Perhaps this would be it.

And all the better for Harry if he had Lord Black on his side.

“I’ll go myself,” Minerva confirmed.

* * *

The next day around noon, there was a knock at the door of Number 4, Privet Drive. All morning, Uncle Vernon has seemed out of sorts, glaring at Harry. Or, at least, glaring at him more than usual. Harry figured that his aunt must have told him about Hogwarts.

“I’ll get it!” he said quickly, before Uncle Vernon could tell him to, and he shot up and nearly ran to the door. Wondering who it could be, he opened it.

On the other side was a tall, black-haired woman in a neatly pressed skirt and blouse. She looked quite stern, but her face softened into a smile when she saw Harry.

“You must be Mr. Harry Potter,” she said kindly. “My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I’m a professor at Hogwarts.”

Harry stared up at her in awe for a moment. She was a real witch! Hogwarts was real!

“Hello,” he said, suddenly shy. “I didn’t — I mean, you didn’t have to come in person. Another letter would have been fine.”

“Of course I did, Mr. Potter. It’s standard for those who know nothing of the magical world to have an introduction by a professor,” she said. “Now, if you would be so good as to invite me inside?”

Harry shifted on his feet nervously.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. My relatives… I don’t think they like magic much,” he said, trying to be tactful.

Professor McGonagall frowned.

“I’m sure I can handle them, Mr. Potter,” she said, somewhat sternly. Harry wordlessly stepped back, allowing her into the house.

“Boy!” came the shout of Uncle Vernon. “Who’s at the door!”

“It’s a professor from my new school,” Harry called back, not quite willing to leave Professor McGonagall's relatively safe presence to face his Uncle’s wrath.

The professor raised an eyebrow, and he blushed slightly, knowing it was rude to shout.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Potter,” she said kindly. “I trust at Hogwarts you’ll know to keep your voice down indoors.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Aunt Petunia entered the hallway. Apparently, Uncle Vernon had been unwilling to face a witch when his wife could do it. Or perhaps she had insisted.

She sneered at Professor McGonagall. Harry wasn’t quite sure where she got the nerve. If he’d been facing down a witch with no magic to speak of, he might be more polite.

Before the professor could speak, she started.

“We’re more than happy to see the boy off for most of the year,” she said, “but we were promised that he had no magic. As he does, we’d prefer it if his parents took him back.”

Harry flushed in anger and embarrassment. It was humiliating, knowing that none of his family wanted him. And he was starting to feel something like hatred when it came to his parents, a feeling he was all too familiar with after ten years with the Dursley’s.

But before he could say anything rash, Professor McGonagall spoke.

“That is something I will discuss with Harry. As it is, you are currently his guardians. I should think you would act like it. Is there somewhere we can speak in private, Mr. Potter?”

“Um, yeah. You can come up to my bedroom, I suppose,” he said awkwardly. Harry was unused to having a proper bedroom. He had been given it only the day after his Hogwarts letter arrived, much to Dudley’s consternation. 

He led Professor McGonagall up the stairs and into the smallest bedroom, crowded with Dudley’s old toys. He sat on the small bed, gesturing for the professor to take the rickety desk chair. She did so, but not before taking out her wand, waving it, and changing the chair into something that looked much more sturdy.

Harry gaped at her.

“Wow! What kind of magic was that?” he asked, eager for some small morsel of knowledge.

“It is called transfiguration,” she said with a soft smile. “As a matter of fact, I am the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts, so I will be teaching it to you in the fall.”

Harry grinned.

“Wicked!”

“Indeed. Now, Mr. Potter, as you know, your case is somewhat unusual. Normally, professors only come to muggleborn student’s houses. But as you live with your muggle relatives, we have made an exception.”

Harry’s bright mood faded.

“Because my parents didn’t want me,” he said dully. “Because they thought I didn’t have any magic.”

He ducked his head, not wanting to see the pity he assumed would be on her face.

“Your aunt explained that, did she?” the professor said, somewhat testily. “I’m sure she did. Well, I won’t sugarcoat things for you, Potter. I’m not sure you would appreciate it if I did. It’s true, you were thought to be a squib when you were an infant — a squib is someone born to magical parents without any magic themselves,” she added. “It’s been common practice for centuries to leave squib children with muggles so that they don't grow up resentful of their magical relations. It’s mostly fallen out of favor in recent years, except for those who come from old magical families. Like your father. It was no doubt taught to him that squibs don't belong in the wizarding world."

That didn’t really make Harry feel any better. But he was grateful that she was telling the truth. He was rather sick of lies, at the moment.

“That’s horrible,” was all he said, though his mind was racing. 

"It is. That's why many people are campaigning for squib rights. You can learn more about that later if you'd like, but for now, I'd best move on. There is... a lot to go over."

“Alright, professor.”

“I’m afraid your parents did you a great disservice,” she said gently. “It was wrong of them, and I don’t think much is going to make you feel better at the moment, is it?”

Harry shook his head.

“I’m afraid I have more news. You have a twin brother, Harry, named Adam.”

Harry stared.

“I have a brother?” he whispered, dazed.

“Yes. Your older sibling by some minutes, I believe. As well as a younger sister by the name of Violet.”

“I have a sister.” 

“Do you need a moment, Harry?”

"No. What is it?" Harry asked, needing to know. "There's something else, isn't there? Something you're not telling me."

Professor McGonagall hesitated.

"Yes. Well, your brother is... somewhat famous. He's known as the Boy-Who-Lived, actually."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Adam Potter survived a curse that many thought was lethal. In doing so, the greatest dark wizard of the age was defeated," she said succinctly. "He is well known for that fact."

"Oh," Harry said stupidly. He didn't know what to think. His brother was famous? He had a little sister?

And he had grown up in a cupboard.

The resentment in him grew.

"It was believed..." Professor McGonagall started. "It was believed by the healers — like muggle doctors, Mr. Potter — that when your brother defeated You-Know-Who, the magical backlash stripped you of your magic. But it seems that the healers were either wrong, or your magic was only taken temporarily. It's difficult to say."

"It shouldn't matter!" Harry finally exploded. "They're my parents! They're supposed to love me no matter what!" and, much to his mortification, he began to cry, in silent, heaving sobs as tears ran down his face.

Professor McGonagall moved to sit next to him on the bed. She didn't hug him, exactly, but she placed her hand on his back, rubbing it in soothing circles. She conjured a simple white handkerchief and handed it to him.

"I know, Mr. Potter. It's neither right, nor fair. And you have every right to be angry at your mother and father. Merlin knows I am, and I'm just their old professor. But it's not all bad."

Harry wiped his eyes, his breathing coming back under his control.

"It's not?" he asked, blowing his nose. Harry didn't see how it could get any better.

"No. You have a godfather, and he's been looking for you for ten years."

"Really?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "His name is Sirius Black, and he loves you very much. He was very, very angry at your father when he found out that you had been sent away. I believe he hasn't spoken to him since then."

This did rather make Harry feel better. At least he wasn't alone.

"Can I meet him?"

"Well, you can write to him," Professor McGonagall. "I'm afraid I don't know enough about the situation to tell you why he hasn't found you yet. But now that you're a part of the magical world again, you're free to write to him as you'd like. I'm sure he'll be more than pleased to hear from you."

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, the rewrite is here! I'll keep the original _Our Father's Sons_ up for a while, but I will eventually be taking it down. If you've read the original, you might notice that the first few chapters are almost identical, apart from a few edits. But as the story goes on, it does diverge more.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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